Bitterroot Valley All of me.

Where are you? Artyom hoped fiercely that the boy had been found, that he was being cared for, even though the chances of his survival were slim. He stared ahead at the empty plain sprawled out before him, soft eyes scanning the sweeping grasses in hope of finding a small dark bundle come bounding his way. Perhaps if he called...

Before he could, a voice came from behind. Artyom snapped back to reality and swung his head to look over a gilded shoulder, his ears high atop his crown. Dark gaze found the figure of a stranger, and he traced his upper lip a little awkwardly. "Part of that river belongs to my pack," he responded, and offered a hint of smile in gratitude for the other's concern before it dissipated; "so I'm not lost, but someone else is. I don't suppose you've seen a cub on your travels?"